Ghetto Ritual

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead.
My father is a sculptor,
And I am the wax figure he created.
With the help of his rough working hands,
On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline.

Staring down at the steaming sink I fear the white rag.
I look melted.

The towel drops and soaks up the lava.
Too hot to ring out, my palms burn.
I let it settle.
“Torey DON’T let it cool down!”
But that means more pain.